


Erik and the Earl

by listerinezero



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik has Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Snow, Time Travel, kate and leopold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has a time-traveling 19th century earl staying in his apartment and he's not sure what's more frustrating: Charles' habit of taking apart his appliances or the fact that he's not Erik's boyfriend. </p><p>A Kate and Leopold AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erik and the Earl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Erik and the Earl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793399) by [Mofery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mofery/pseuds/Mofery)



> A little gift for my friend, Turtle. Merry Christmas!

Erik left work at 5:00 and was back at his West Village apartment building at 5:26. Normally Erik put in about about eleven hours at the office and then went straight to the gym, but since Charles had turned up, Erik found himself rushing out of work as early as possible to get home. His coworkers at Stark all teased him, asking if he finally had a date and who the guy was. _If only_ , Erik thought. But what else was he going to say? _Actually, I have a bored nineteenth century earl in my apartment who thinks he’s a scientist and if I don’t get home now he might try to disassemble my television to see how it works like he did to the microwave._ It was a bit like having a new puppy: if Erik didn’t get home in time to entertain Charles and take him for a walk, he was liable to make a mess all over the rug.

It struck Erik after a couple of days that he probably should have just told his coworkers that Charles was a puppy. He could have said that he was watching a neighbor’s dog and had to get home to take care of it, and that would have put a quick stop to the teasing about a new boyfriend. But he didn’t. They whistled when he arrived in the morning and then hooted when Erik packed up his things at 4:58, saying, _“This guy must be something else! Can we see a picture? Come on! Is he hot?”_ Erik just blushed and shook his head, telling them it was none of their business. It was silly, and he knew it, but Erik liked the illusion that he was seeing Charles. It was as close to actually dating him that he was ever going to get. And yes, Charles was hot. In a nineteenth century earl kind of way.

Erik took off his hat and dug his keys out of the deep pocket of his winter coat. He usually only carried them for show, relying on his powers to lock and unlock doors, but since Charles had arrived, he’d been using them for real, rather than having to explain the entirety of mutant history to someone who would have died decades before the word was ever uttered. Not that he was ashamed of being a mutant, or ever in his life sought to hide who he was, but it was just easier this way. Charles could barely wrap his mind around the internet - how was Erik going to explain mutantism? And what if Charles, the walking anachronism, thought he was a monster? No, better to just use his keys.

He hoped that Charles knew enough to turn the heat up in the apartment, Erik thought as he unlocked the door. It was uncomfortably cold out, and the weather report said it might snow. He imagined Charles shivering under blankets, building a fire in the decorative-only fireplace with Erik’s paperbacks for kindling.

Thankfully the apartment was toasty warm when Erik stepped inside. The apartment was as neat and clean as Erik kept it himself - no sign of the television being taken apart - and, Erik noticed with concern, it was silent.

“Charles?” Erik called out, shedding his coat and hanging it on the rack next to a heavy gray peacoat he didn’t recognize. There was no answer. “Charles?” he called out again.

He turned the corner out of the entryway and found Charles standing in front of the window, his back to Erik, with white earbuds in his ears, waving his hands as if he was conducting a symphony. Not that Erik was looking at Charles’ ears.

His _ass_. Charles was wearing _jeans_.

Not to mention his _arms_. In _short sleeves_.

Erik began to wonder, and not for the first time, if he had lost his mind and invented Charles in a fit of pure lust and loneliness.

Charles must have felt Erik sneaking up behind him, because he turned and pulled out the earbuds.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hear you come in. Raven gave me her old ear-pod."

Raven was Erik’s neighbor, to whom Erik had introduced Charles mainly as a way of confirming that Charles was real. Apparently they’d hit it off.

"iPod," Erik corrected.

Charles frowned. "Eye-pod? But isn't it a listening device?"

Normally Erik would be charmed by this sort of comment, but he was too distracted noticing that Charles had cut his hair - it had been longish and wavy, but now it was trimmed short and parted in a very modern cut, more stylish than Erik’s bathroom buzz by far. Between that, the clothes, and the iPod, Charles was no longer just hot in a nineteenth century earl kind of way. Charles was hot. Charles was a guy that Erik would get caught staring at on the subway.

“New look?” he asked, realizing that being caught staring in his own apartment was way worse than being caught staring on the subway.

Charles looked puzzled for a moment until he understood. “Ah! The clothing. Yes, I suppose you could say that.” He smoothed down the back of his hair: an unusually nervous gesture for Charles. “Since it appears that I will be here for some time, I decided that I would like to be able to go out and explore the city without drawing too many unwanted stares. I found I was having a difficult time staying inconspicuous.”

Erik looked him up and down, then smirked when he saw the one flaw in Charles’ twenty-first century costume. “No new shoes?”

Charles looked down at his feet and smiled, bashful. “I’m afraid I’m accustomed to having my shoes made especially for me. All of the ones in the store hurt my feet. Raven insisted I purchase a pair of athletic shoes, but I can’t imagine what sport I would be participating in, so I doubt I would have occasion to wear them.” He gestured to a stylish pair of Nikes sitting in a box in the corner of the room.

“Many people wear sneakers every day, regardless of the occasion,” said Erik.

Charles made a scandalized face, as though Erik had suggested he wear his underwear outside his pants. “No, I don’t think I shall. And anyway, I didn’t find them particularly comfortable, either. It was like walking on sponges! How strange!”

Erik laughed - a real laugh, not a fake chuckle. He found that he did that a lot around Charles.

“So this is Raven’s fault, then?” Erik asked.

Charles smiled. “Yes, Raven and her friend Angel took me out today. I think they had more fun with this than I did.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Do you know Raven is an actress?” asked Charles. “Apparently she was in a play recently about children who kill one another! Can you imagine?”

Forget actress - Raven was well on her way to becoming a movie star. Which was why she could afford to live in Erik’s building and still have all day to take Charles on a shopping spree.

“Actually, it was a movie, and she was very good in it.”

“Yes, of course. A ‘movie,’” said Charles. It tickled Erik the way he said “movie,” as if he’d just learned the word. Come to think of it, he had.

Charles stepped forward into Erik’s space, his hands behind his back (and Erik very pointedly did not focus on the way that showed off his chest). “Actually,” he said, “since I can blend in a bit better now, I was wondering if we might go see a movie tonight.”

“A movie?”

“I would very much like to see a movie while I’m here, and I was hoping you would go with me.” Charles’ eyes searched into Erik’s. “Perhaps we could have dinner together afterwards as well.”

Erik’s heart began to pound. “Dinner and a movie?”

“Yes.” A smile bloomed across Charles’ face. “In fact I made reservations for tonight. On the telephone,” he added with pride.

“Well, in that case, how can I say no?” Erik laughed.

Charles laughed, too. “Splendid!” he said. “Splendid.”

 

*

 

They took a cab to the movie theater at Union Square for the 6:10 showing of _The Last Hustle_ , the new Martin Scorsese mob movie set in 1970s Boston. Charles had selected it because Raven had a small role, but Erik wasn’t sure it was the best choice.

“It’s probably going to be very violent,” Erik warned Charles as they purchased their tickets at the window.

Charles brushed him off. “It will be fine. The newspaper said it was the best film in theaters this winter.”

“I don’t mean stage violence,” Erik went on. “It’s not like in live theater, like you might be used to. Films are very realistic with the blood and gore. I’ve seen men’s heads shot off in movies.”

Still Charles ignored Erik’s warnings. “I was in the British Army, Erik. I’ve seen my share of violence.” He rested his hand on Erik’s back. “I assure you I will be fine.”

Before Erik could react, Charles had stepped away and through the doors into the theater lobby. Erik was sure that Charles would be overwhelmed by the advertisements and lights and crowds and multiple escalators (their showing was in Theater 9, on the third floor), but he’d been wrong. Yes, Charles was thrilled, but not by the escalators.

“Is that popcorn?” he asked, eyes wide. “Oh, that smells wonderful. I’ve only had popcorn once before. It was quite a treat.” He caught sight of the giant buckets on display. “And we certainly did not have it in such quantity.”

Erik laughed again, then was overcome with a wave of self-consciousness. He was laughing too much. He wondered if Charles noticed it. He wondered if Charles thought that he was being weird. He wondered if Charles knew how much this felt like a date. He worried that Charles might realize that Erik thought this felt like a date and be scandalized.

No more laughing, he told himself. Be normal. Be grumpy. This is not a date.

Charles again rested his hand on Erik’s back. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get some popcorn.”

They purchased a small tub of popcorn (and Charles insisted they get a tub, even though just a “small” bag would have been more than enough to spoil their dinners) and an extra-large seltzer to share and took their seats in the back of the theater. Charles had wanted to sit up front, but Erik kept him in the back of the theater both to avoid a sore neck and to make sure that there were fewer people near them. Erik suspected he would have to spend much of the movie explaining things to Charles, and he was right: answers to questions about the advertisements, the previews, the music, the references, and even basic information about why the characters all had hideous mustaches had to be whispered into Charles’ ear.

At one point Erik forgot himself and, as he leaned in to explain what the main character was talking about when he referred to the “grassy knoll,” put his arm around Charles’ shoulder. He only realized what he’d done when Charles turned towards him and their faces were so close that their noses almost touched. With a jolt of embarrassment, Erik sat back in his seat and put his hands in his lap. Luckily, by that time the movie had built to its loud, bullet-riddled climax, and there was nothing more to explain.

They didn’t speak again until the movie ended, the house lights slowly coming up over the credits.

“Don’t forget your scarf,” said Erik.

Charles nodded and wrapped it around his neck, buttoning the gray peacoat as they filed out of the theater and out onto the street. Outside, the snow had begun to fall in soft, silent flurries: a picturesque distraction from the awkwardness marring their walk to the restaurant. Charles still hadn’t spoken since Erik had put his arm around his shoulders.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” Erik asked.

Charles thought for a moment before he answered, “Well, it’s the only one I’ve ever seen, so I have nothing with which to compare it, but it was…  interesting.”

“Interesting?”

Charles nodded. It occurred to Erik that he might be feeling a bit shell-shocked. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” said Erik. “I knew I should have taken you to see something less violent. I hope it didn’t upset you too much.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t mind that. Or, not as much as you seem to think it would have. In any case, that’s not what’s bothering me.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just…” Charles stopped, and they moved aside to stand beneath an awning, out of the way of the holiday shopping crowds. “I feel it must be terribly rude of me to ask this, and I hope you won’t think less of me for it, but, which character was Raven?”

Erik gaped at Charles. For all that he had been worried about exposing Charles to the violence of a Martin Scorcese film, he’d forgotten to worry about exposing Charles to a film that featured mutants. Raven was a shapeshifter, and as an actress she changed her form for every role, at least to some degree. He should have known that Charles would ask this question, and he should have prepared for it.

“I realize I probably should have asked her before we even came here,” Charles went on, “but again I thought it would have been quite rude. I thought I would have figured it out by the end, but I’m afraid I did not.”

“She was the main character’s sister, Marie.” Marie was in her forties and dark-skinned. She looked absolutely nothing like the Raven who’d dragged Charles to Neiman Marcus earlier that day.

“Ah,” Charles nodded. “That was my first guess, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Makeup!” Erik blurted. “It was a, uh, very advanced makeup technique. And computers. And, uh, lighting.”

Charles smirked, looking as though he had a witty retort ready to go, but Erik wanted nothing more than to get away from this topic of conversation.

“Hey, look! There’s a cheese shop over there. Should we get some cheese?”

Erik started to walk away but Charles took his hand and pulled him back under the awning.

“Erik, wait,” he said. “I have to confess something. I already knew that Raven was a mutant, and that she could change her shape. And I know that you have the power to manipulate metal, which I would love to see, if you’d be willing to show me. You’ve been trying to keep it from me, I know, but I hope that you won’t any longer.”

Erik gaped at him. “She told you?”

“Yes, because I asked. You know, you have an entire shelf of books on mutant political history.”

“Which I hid behind a row of spy novels,” Erik pointed out.

“Well, I found them,” Charles smirked. “And if you’d actually read them all the way through, rather than skipping to the parts about the Brotherhood, you would know that mutants were not invented in the 1960s any more than homosexuals were. There have always been mutants, though they weren’t called that in my time, nor were they as numerous as they appear to be now. But even in my time, there were those of us with, as you might say, ‘extra-human’ abilities.”

The mixture of relief and confusion and curiosity swirling in Erik’s mind left him nearly speechless. He could, however, get out one word: “Us?” he asked.

“Yes, us,” said Charles. _I believe the word you would use today is ‘telepath.’_

“You’re a telepath?” Erik gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Charles shrugged, looking bashful. “That I’m a telepath, that I’m a homosexual - where I come from, these are not facts to be shared with new acquaintances, or with anyone, really. However, it’s refreshing to discover that people today can be so open with who they are.” He smiled. “What is that saying? ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do?’”

The snow began falling faster, but under their awning on 19th Street, Erik only saw Charles.

 _And yes_ , Charles spoke into his mind again, with a distinct grin in his voice. _I was hoping this was a date._

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Erik and the Earl (the Earl's New Clothes remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227294) by [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura)




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